


The Forest Has Eyes

by UniquelyQueer_67



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Arthur-centric, Canon Era, Contains OCs, First Kiss, Healing, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt Merlin, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Nymphs - Freeform, Oblivious Arthur, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Pining, Pining Arthur, Poetic, Poor Merlin, Post-Battle of Camlann, Post-Canon, Protective Arthur, Weird Plot Shit, injured merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17518262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniquelyQueer_67/pseuds/UniquelyQueer_67
Summary: After a magical injury leaves Merlin incapacitated, Arthur has to trek to the Valley of the Fallen Kings to find a healer. What he doesn't expect is to be kidnapped by forest nymphs. Go figure, I guess.





	1. Setting the Scene

Merlin was a warm, yet quivering weight on the back of his king. Arthur supposed this was bound to happen at some point, once the warlock had revealed himself not just to Arthur, but to most of the five kingdoms. He proclaimed himself as the Camelot's protector and the guardian to its king. As a king, Arthur had never allowed himself to fall into the complacent state of comfort or safety, such things were trained out of him as a child in preparation for the constant state of unrest one feels when it is more than plausible that there is an assassination attempt being planned for every day of the rest of your reign. 

 _"Because,"_ Gaius had told him one day in his youth, " _even the kindest, fairest and most loyal of kings will have enemies. Sometimes,"_ he spoke sternly to the boy,  _"for ruling with those exact qualities."_

And so, there he was, feeling the cradle of magic that rocked him to sleep every night and woke him up every morning, even on the verge of death, flowing forth from his seemingly insignificant manservant. It was beatiful. It was safe.

Then it was not.

The story was not new, at least not to Merlin. Arthur was in danger, and the man did as the prophecies foretold, and as Merlin felt he was born to do; he took the blow. 

A weaker man would've died instantly, but Merlin is neither weak nor man. if there was one thing that Arthur had learned since discovering Merlin's magic, it was that he was a force of nature - wild and beautiful and refreshing and  _dangerous_.

But now, as the last Dragonlord's breath came out in uneven rasps, sweat sticking to his sickly forehead as he shivered with feverish cold; Arthur wanted nothing more than to hold his best friend in his arms, and wait for it all to be resolved.

 

The wind lightly mussed his hair and the grass tickled his feet as he sat, bare foot, on the grass. He dabbed a wet cloth to Merlin's forehead, per Gaius' instructions. Then looking up ahead in dread, once more, for where they were headed. The Valley of the Fallen Kings' reputation preceded it, and the last thing Arthur wanted was to bring Merlin anywhere near the place, but Gaius had consulted his books and concluded it the best and only location to locate a cure for his nephew.

"Two more days," Arthur comforted the wounded man, "then you'll be back to being the worst manservant ever." he attempted to make his friend chuckle, but, getting only a pained and partially conscious groan, Arthur concluded that it'd be best to ride quickly tomorrow. After they were both better rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this one because i was playing with language and its nuances creating a particular image, hence the words will be very carefully chosen in describing the nymphs. I find such techniques also help to distinguish one character from the other, which is cool, makes them a little more fleshed out.


	2. The Disturbance

Merlin never let out more than a grunt in gratitude as Arthur fed his manservant the stew he had acquired from a particularly fat boar, whose hide would make wonderful boots when the pair returned to Camelot. The king found himself discussing his thoughts on royal matters with Merlin - which meant that Arthur spoke to no end, and Merlin let out the odd chuckle, grimace or just pulled a face of general distaste that made Arthur laugh from deep in his chest.

The sun had began to set, the sky alight with oranges and reds that promised good weather come morning. Eventually, when Arthur's voice tired and Merlin could barely keep his eyes open, the great king let his servant rest his weary head upon the royal lap. He placed his hand over the warlock's forehead and watched him drift into slumber. Of course, he kept his hand there as a means of measuring and regulating Merlin's temperature, his thumb sweeping soothingly over the man's ivory skin only as a means of ensuring he slept soundly. And it goes without saying that Arthur's fond smile was merely a reflection of his amusement at Merlin's horrible, embarrassing, sleeping face. Strings of drool dripped from his cracked lips onto Arthur's leg, his mouth agape and his breathing heavy with the snoring that often kept Arthur awake on hunting trips. Although, Arthur thought that those snores had diminished, due to him not hearing them quite as often these days. 

Sighing with realisation, Arthur made a mental note to warn Merlin not to sacrifice his sleep for his king's safety - the knights do take shifts, after all.

The stars were slowly settling into their constellations as the day came to a close, the moon watching protectively over her children, so very far away. Elegantly back-lit by her majesty, Merlin was gently carried inside Arthur's tent and settled charily onto a carefully prepared bedroll. He pulled the blankets up to Merlin's shoulders so as to shield him from the cold, being sure to free his hands from the fabric. Satisfied with his work, Arthur made for the fire outside their tent, intending to add a few extra logs for warmth through the night. Arthur wrapped his calloused hand around the piece of wood, and turned to place it onto the flames, only to discover that it had been snuffed out. 

He approached the once roaring flame with prudence, placing the log back on the ground. Kneeling in front of the embers, he spotted a minute wisp of faint purple smoke float up from the centre. Arthur took a pinch of ash and tested the texture between his fingers;  _completely normal,_ he thought. 

Now suspecting serious and dark sorcery at work, Arthur rested his hand to the hilt of his sword, taking a battle stance. He was just about to call out a warning to the potential attacker, when he heard a childish giggle. Rushed and frantic footsteps padded from the clearing's edge to a spot right behind Arthur in matter of seconds - a warm breath ghosted over the back of his neck, which immediately turned to goose-flesh. With little to no time to react, something hard hit the back of his head and the world spun blurry out of his sight.

 

His dreams were filled with sparkling streams, harsh winds and grass soft as velvet as child-like whispering echoed eerily through the unconsciousness he was encased in. His first thought?

_Merlin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will have significantly shorter chapters than you're probably used to, as you can see. I love subtle foreshadowing, don't you?


	3. Meanwhile...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

It had been six days since King Arthur had set off with Court Sorcerer, Merlin, to find the man a magical cure for his ailments. Since they had been gone, Guinevere had proven quite sufficient at ruling the kingdom, if she said so herself. The knights had always said she was a destined leader, similar to Arthur in fate, but unique in her methods when in comparison to her husband. Camelot seemed happy and peaceful. Of which Gwen owed some, if not most, of the thanks to Merlin, whom had been a faithful servant to the crown for years and now sat at his rightful place to Arthur's right hand at the Round Table. Much to her majesty's dismay, however, the Festival of the Forest was rapidly approaching.

This meant Gwen's regular duties - demanding as they were on their own - were now paired with dozens of inspections of merchandise, endless hours of writing a speech, and countless visits to the towns to supervise construction of stalls and decorations and a large straw dragon, which, if set alight at the festival, would signify harmony between man, monarchy and magic, or something along those lines. This custom, in fact this entire festival, was the first in nearly thirty years simply for that one minute detail. Every elder of Camelot knew that you couldn't have the festival without magic, it was too much of an intrinsic part of nature and the earth.

That put even  _more_ pressure on the queen, if that was at all possible.

 

"My queen!" Leon paged her one afternoon as she tended to some flower arrangements with the village children. Straightening her plainest gown (a prestigious one and shockingly blue), Gwen got to her feet and approached her knight.

"Leon? Is there a problem with the Bwystfil o Dân?" Leon looked momentarily confused, then shook his head, waving his hand dismissively.

"No, of course not! No, your highness, the dragon is fine. I just wanted to ask if you had any ideas as to when Arthur and Merlin might return?" Gwen quirked an eyebrow.

"I was under the impression that I was doing quite well as ruler of this kingdom, but I suppose I was mistaken?" the knight's face contorted with horror at his lack of wits, when Gwaine draped his arm around the man's shoulder and drawled,

"Oh don't look so scared, Leon, I'm sure she's just making fun! Aren't you, Guinevere?" Gwen nodded amicably and Leon visibly relaxed.

"If it helps, I miss him just as much as I'm sure you both do. He is my husband after all." Gwaine cut in before Leon could get a word in edgewise.

"Yeah, but we all know that Merlin is his one true love." the morally-dubious knight twitched his eyebrows for effect, and Gwen rolled her eyes at the display.

"As inseparable as they are, Sir Gwaine, I seriously doubt there is  _that_ much to their relationship. Although I must say, despite his prominence in my life, I know very little about Arthur when compared to you knights..." Leon, now significantly more settled, chipped in.

"Oh come now, Gwen. I'm sure Gwaine is just joking, he never ceases to do so most days."

"I will be more wary of that in future, Leon, I'm sure." she chuckled slightly, shaking her head at the absurd behaviour of Camelot's best knights, her brother and Percival very much included in that.

"Well, I miss Merlin!" Gwaine announced as he swivelled his feet and began to stroll away, Leon marching up behind him.

"He's in good hands," Gwen heard herself say even when nobody was in earshot, "they'll both be fine."

 

And so the Queen of Camelot proceeded to delicately handle flowers with all the care, attention and precision as she once did a molten blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for dragging the cliffhanger out even more, after not even updating for so long too!! The audacity I possess!


	4. The Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV again.

Arthur woke with blurred vision. The snickers were still very much present and ringing in his ears. He could see slim and quick shapes shoot in and out of his line of sight. Groaning, he lifted himself off of his side and sat up, cradling the back of his throbbing head.

As the world began to focus and his thoughts became sharper, Arthur remembered where he was, where he was going, and who he was going there for.

"Merlin?" he asked meekly, but with enough energy to sound slightly frantic. He finally blinked the blurriness away and vigorously rubbed his eyes. As he opened them he found himself in a glade, he'd been moved. He saw vines curl around the trees, a soft breeze making leaves quiver, his eyes lowered, landing on a sparkling lake. Arthur suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that this place, whatever it was, was sacred in the eyes of all who behold it. After being around the most powerful sorcerer to ever live for so long, one learns to detect signs of magic; the glade was thick with ancient magic - the kind that pulsed through the very earth itself, reaching down into the deepest depths of the sea and reaching up into the sky, blanketing the earth in a quilt of power and warmth.

Arthur took a deep breath. As he opened his eyes, he came upon something so alarmingly bizarre that he jettisoned his body back a few feet.

"You're not Merlin."

Standing at his feet, eyes wide as plums and of the prettiest gold, was a small green...thing. He honestly couldn't tell what it was, it was slim, with two arms and two legs, and fingers, and hair. But it wasn't human, however much it was trying to look like it. The creature tilted its head sideways at the king, as if assessing him in some way, what should've been its eyebrows furrowing in concentration and slight intrigue. It then whipped its head around behind it, obviously hearing something Arthur was unable to. Arthur followed its gaze to a similar-looking creature, this one was a light blue. Its long hair of a deep, adriatic blue dangled from its scalp as it pointed insistently toward the trees. The first creature let out what could be described as a chirp of protest, then the other gargled impatiently. The green creature chirped dejectedly, and returned to the trees. Once the first was out of sight, the second creature began to sink slowly back into the water that it emerged from, hair spreading like roots through the ripples and piercing golden eyes glued to Arthur as it did so - unblinking.

Arthur's skin crawled. He continued to look around the glade, without the strength to get up, he could at least plan his escape. To the king's great dismay, the trees grew so lush and thick that you couldn't see through them, not even the clouds gave Arthur any clue how far he was from the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Sighing deeply, the blonde just flopped back down onto the grass beneath him, ignoring the worry clouding his mind;  _where's Merlin_ , it just kept saying. 

 

A rustle of leaves caused Arthur to shoot up until he was bolt upright, reaching for his sword, but finding no such weapon. He wasn't even in his own clothes! Looking down at his body, Arthur saw a lengthy-sleeved tunic of white satin drape on his frame, his chest very much exposed (although Arthur did not feel the chill from the breeze surrounding him, he supposed this was further proof that this place was magic). His legs swathed in a ribbon of red cotton which wound around each limb and somehow managed to sit comfortably.

The rustling persisted to the point where Arthur thought someone was just playing some sort of practical joke when suddenly someone stumbled out of the bushes, looked up at Arthur in stunned horror, then dived back behind a tree. The king pinched his features in confused bewilderment. Then he heard words cut through the silence, for the first time in days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a flask full of an industrial amount of hot chocolate, bring it on, snow.  
> Welsh names of the Guardians (in order of appearance):  
> Gweryd (pronounced goo-eh-r-ih-d) meaning earth  
> Hanadl (pronounced like if it was spelt hah-nah-dle) meaning breath, wind  
> Law (pronounced L-ah-oh) meaning rain, authority, care
> 
> So many FUCKING BLUES


	5. We Guard As We Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the love of Gaius, if you want any hope of being able to pronounce the Guardians' names correctly, you're gonna have to look at the notes on the previous chapter.

_"Arthur Pendragon."_  the words echoed (somehow) through the glade, and Arthur's attention was once again captured by the lake. Its waters bubbled, then bulged, then parted as a figure with skin of lavender blue rose from the waters. Her slender figure began walking forwards from the ripples of the lake, her dress flowing around her as she became less and less submerged, as if materialising from the water itself. Waves of bermuda swallowed her irises. She possessed no pupils, transforming her eyes into puddles of echoing wisdom and chill. A dress blue as the murky depths of the most dangerous oceans clung to her meandering form and pooled around her feet, shielding them from view as she stepped onto the lush grass. Her long, flowing hair spilled over her shoulder in a shocking shade of icy blue that reminded Arthur of when the well from which Camelot relied, had frozen over. It reminded him of how easily sustenance could be taken away, how easily  _life_  could be treated in the same way. The hair reached halfway down the creature's calf, several locks of it beaded and dripping with jewels resembling dew drops that gathered on grass, leaves and trees on humid spring mornings.

"I am one of the three Guardians of the Forests of Camelot." her voice was somewhat distant, resembling screams, muffled from being submerged in bodies of water. Arthur had no words to comprehend this creature and the ancient energy that was her being, it was suffocating in its majesty. Then she spoke again.

"I am Queen of the Water Nymphs, but you may address me as Law." Arthur couldn't help feeling deeply humbled that Law would grant him the honour of knowing her name, let alone allowing him to use it as his form of address for her.

 

Pulling him from his reverie, a sharp gust of wind whipped at his cheek, and another figure arrived. This one had shot down from the sky, with limbs thin, bony, and gaunt enough to snap under their own weight. Her hair lay haphazardly on her scalp, swept out of her face; transparent as the breeze, it shifted in colour as she moved - from an autumn brown, to a spring green, to a snowy white. Her eyes were almost equally transparent, appearing just a few shades off white. Also possessing no pupils, her stare was downright unnerving, but the eyes occasionally flashed with an electric blue-tinted grey, resembling lightning. This did not help. A tornado of greyish fabric billowed around her pale-as-the-clouds flesh, veins of a purple hue visibly stretching beneath the skin. Her lips were cracked and thin as she frowned intensely at the king. Blinking at him, her eyelids shuttered over her frightening eyes- in a sideways motion, lashes barely visible on either side of her eye sockets.

"I am Empress Hanadl of the Wind Nymphs." she hissed, the wind picking up almost unnoticeably as she did. Arthur got the feeling she had a temper like fire, despite ruling over the skies. She blinked again. Arthur's skin crawled.

 

The familiar rustling of the bushes thankfully moved his gaze away from the ghostly Hanadl. Out stepped the very same figure he saw stumble from them earlier. His skin was dark and rich like the most fertile soil. His eyes, wide with youth, bloomed a vibrant green, with slits of black irises that Arthur supposed indicated his youth, he resembled a much younger Guardian than his fellow monarchs. Hair like the finest lime grass sprouted from his scalp, bushy in style, his body was mostly cloaked in moss and leaves. His figure was not gangling, but wiry in its streamlined shape - Arthur determined that he looked like a healthy and well-trained squire. But he was bashful, like the only bud in a rosebush that would not bloom, hiding from the rays of the sun near the base of the bush. Arthur smiled at him, and flora flowered at the youth's feet as he grinned, his smile gleaming like rays of sun. Unlike Hanadl, who hovered, spectre-like, above the ground, this Guardian had his feet firmly planted on the ground, toes rooted in between blades of grass as he shuffled nervously.

"I," he began, hesitating before he took a deep breath and continued, "I am Gweryd, and I rule over the Earth Nymphs as their King, recent successor of my mother, Phriddell." his voice sounded sure this time, like the low rumble of an earthquake. He stood with his back straight and chest outstretched in kingly posture, but he resembled the ancient trees surrounding some of the older parts of the forest. Hanadl's steady stare snapped over to Gweryd immediately and she sneered, her expression somehow making Arthur's hairs stand up on end all over again.

"Your mother would not have been so careless as to reveal herself before we even speak with the human King," she snapped at the young man, lightning filling her irises, "and she would  _never_ have made the  _primitive_ mistake of letting her powers roam so freely." her voice was cutting through the air as she gestured to the flowers at Gweryd's feet, "What if you get angry? You could upset the balance of _nature itself_ with powers that rogu-"

 _"Enough."_   Law rumbled over the noise, drowning out even the birdsong around the four of them, "you will not allow bitterness to poison your winds, Hanadl." her tone loomed like a building tidal wave on the spidery Empress, Hanadl blinked in response. She backed down, and the lightning faded, "Do you not think that Gweryd misses his mother? Just as you miss your fellow Guardian? I've seen better compassion from a monsoon. Your aunt would be most displeased." Hanadl remained silent as Law turned sluggishly to face Arthur. The demand escaped his lips before he could think.

 

"Where is Merlin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was gonna be one chapter but it was getting LOONG  
> I chose Welsh names for the Guardians because of Arthurian legend's roots residing in Wales (also I'm Welsh lol) Cannot speak a lick of Welsh btw, these were google translate, 100%, not ashamed to admit that. (can pronounce the phonetic alphabet tho, that's fun to show off about)  
> Oh boy, oh boy,  
> Phriddell (pronounced ff-ree-th-eh-euch) to aid in pronunciation of the unique, pain in the ass sound that is "ll", I found this on wikipedia:  
> No English equivalent (of fucking course); similar to the voiceless l in please but with considerably more friction  
> It's fairly accurate. Americans, good fucking luck. Why'd I choose this one again????  
> Anyway, it means earth.


	6. A Hummingbird's Flutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival POV

The firm thudding of hooves traversed the vastness of woodland surrounding Camelot's great citadel. Sir Percival sat atop one such horse, his cape a brilliant Pendragon red; Elyan, riding up alongside him, also possessed such a cape. Both knights had been sent out to a specific location to meet a group of merchants who claimed to possess a gift for Queen Guinevere for the rapidly approaching festival. Naturally, considering the kingdom's lack of present king having put Camelot into a precarious position, the offer was not to be trusted. Percival's task was to aid Elyan in the inspection of the so-called goods.

The king had been missing for just over two weeks now, and Percival could see that Gwen was beginning to worry, people across Camelot were starting to miss Arthur as well. Whispers were carrying through the lower town, alluding to the demise of the king; but every knight worth the crest glittering upon their cape knew that Arthur would sooner face the Cailleach herself before letting himself die so easily. But Percival was considerably concerned despite this, for Merlin as well.

They reached the location easily enough. Tying up their horses, the knights waited for the merchants to arrive. Their wait ceased when a woman riding a rickety old mule trudged towards them. Being tugged by the decrepit animal, was a container covered by a tarp. Percival and Elyan both drew their swords at the woman, demanding to know who she was.

"I have a gift for her majesty, remember." Percival surveyed the area. He'd been told to expect a group of young men, not this woman.

"Where are the others?" Elyan raised his blade higher, gesturing to the area around the old hag.

"I am the only one. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I do have the assets." she dismounted her mule, tugging indicatively on the tarp.

"Tell us what is in there before you uncover the container." Elyan ordered the woman. She complied easily enough, her smile full of rotting teeth and a tongue black with disease.

"I often obtain and give gifts of great worth," she began, her tongue clacking wetly against the gums of her mouth where some teeth were simply missing. Her voice a harsh and drawn out croak, "but this one is by far the most ambitious one yet. I've never experienced such difficulty in obtaining such a prize before-"

"Madam, we merely want to know what is under the tarp." Elyan spoke in a clipped sentence, fixing the hag with a dark stare. She wheezed in preparation for her next sentence, her black rags shifting unevenly under her expanding chest.

"I specialise in acquiring magical goods. But most of all, I specialise in gathering potion ingredients from creatures of magic. These are such ingredients..." she held a shaking arm in front of the cart.

"That seems like an awfully large container for a few herbs." Elyan quipped, raising his sword once more. The witch pointed her finger accusingly at the knight, tutting theatrically.

"Ah! But you see, Sir Elyan, these are not average herbs or feathers or fur. No, this milk proved so difficult to harvest that I," she reached up as far as her arm could take her, "was forced," she gripped a large handful of canvas tarp in her wrinkled fist, "to grab the whole cow!" she pulled the tarp down in one swift flick of her wrist, revealing three small quivering figures bound in chains within a large iron cage.

Percival felt his stomach swirl with nausea, looking over to Elyan, his expression paled.

"What in the name of the Gods, is this?" Elyan asked weakly.

"This," began the sick old woman, as she swept down near the cage and picked up four stoppered bottles, "is my gift to your queen!" she dropped the bottles on the ground at the knights' feet, then hurriedly yanked the tarp back over the cage, and scrambled onto her mule. 

Both knights sprang into action just as she got enough speed to begin riding away, Percival grabbed at the reigns of the mule, missing by a hair. Elyan, on the other hand, swung his sword down onto the leather straps binding the wheeled cage to the hag's animal. The material gave with a crack, and the old woman sped off into the forest, leaving the cage in a cloud of kicked up dirt and leaves and screechy cries.

When the forest fell silent once more, Percival bent down to get a closer look at the creatures inside the cage. Each were a different colour, one was blue, another green, and the third was dusty brown.

"Nymphs," Elyan recited solemnly as he crouched with Percival, "they're quite small, frail. But their magic is strong. On my travels away from Camelot I stayed with a healer. We saw one once." he pointed to the brown one in the centre, "that one isn't supposed to look like that, their skin usually look greyish. This is the colour a wind nymph takes when it's dying..." Percival looked more closely at the other nymphs. Each one was hooked up to a contraption of some sort.

The green one sat atop a grille glowing red with the heat of a magically stoked fire, it's shackles also glowing with intense heat. Covering its withering body was a piece of white cloth cut so that it could be put over the creature's head. It was soaked with a pale green liquid that Percival recognised from one of the bottles.

"The sweat of an earth nymph is said to possess a potent magic that will make the drinker obey whoever administered the potion to them." Percival felt sick again, he slid his eyes over to the brown nymph. It was bound in chains and had various cuts and gashes all over its body. Blood more transparent than water trickled from the wounds. A metal mask with a pipe attached to a tank stored underneath the creature was secured with leather straps. 

"She was harvesting the screams. The screams of a wind nymph can be harvested and compressed into bottles. They will instantly deafen or kill anyone who hears them, depending on their distance from the scream." Elyan sounded just as numb as Percival felt as his eyes fell on the blue nymph. An iron mask similar to the wind nymph's was attached to its face, except this one had a gap for the mouth. It had two dish-like structures under the creature's swollen eyes. The tears of the creature were being harvested, but this nymph was the only one not in any physical pain. Then Percival imagined his reaction if he was sitting between two of his friends; one sat on a hot iron and being slowly burned, melted to the grille, the other being scratched and scraped with rusty knives until they were soaked in their own drying blood, screams echoing from both sides.

He'd cry too.

"Tears from a water nymph can allow one to shape-shift into whom or whatever they choose," Elyan picked up a bottle containing a dense, red, swirling gas. The fourth bottle, "But, worse is that, when you mix the sweat and tears together and heat them into a gas, storing them with the screams, you can release the resulting vapour into any area and it will kill everyone in a thirty mile radius. They'll choke on their own liquefying organs." Percival couldn't listen to this anymore, he shot to his feet and grabbed his sword. He began swinging at the lock on the cage. It eventually gave and Percival swung the door open. Shushing the creatures and ignoring Elyan's hand gripping his arm, he yanked at the chains and leather straps on the nymphs. They wouldn't budge, sticking steadfast to the faces and bodies of the vulnerable creatures. 

 _"Come on!!"_ Percival screamed. After a while, a small, blue hand rested on his own where he was trying to free the wind nymph. He looked to the blue creature in the centre, and it shook its head solemnly, urging Percival to let it be. He loosened his grip on the leather strap and Elyan's voice came into focus.

"I told you they were dying. There's nothing we can do. They don't want you to waste your energy, they only have minutes, if that." Percival turned to Elyan,

"Then let's stay with them."

 

{(#=#)}

 

As the last nymph closed its eyes in eternal slumber, slivers of magic dripped from their chests. The magic of the earth nymph flowed gently into the soil under the knights' feet, the water nymph's essence made it's way into a small stream, and the wind nymphs magic exploded into the air around the two men, floating up into the clouds above them, riding the breeze.

Elyan told Percival that magical creatures are never to be burnt, unless they are dragons. So the two buried the creatures as respectfully as they could, the spells binding them to the cage having been broken upon their deaths. The bottles were buried in a separate location, away from the nymphs - it seemed a kinder thing to do. Then each knight ripped off a section of their cape and tied it to a large stick; this they used to mark the grave.

Finally, Sirs Elyan and Percival of Camelot attached the cage to their horses, and carried it off to Camelot to be smelted and forged into something better, newer, kinder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry!!!! I know the nymphs are actually super cute, and I suck, but there's a purpose to this, i swear!!!!


	7. Hands to be Shaken, Deals to be Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur negotiates with immortal beings. Fun times.

"Where is Merlin?" the demand escaped Arthur's lips before he could stop himself. Hanadl's gaze shifted immediately to him. She was ,no doubt, about to say something venomous and spiteful when Law's voice echoed over her.

"We will show you in due time. But first," she beckoned Arthur closer and they both glided along the grass of the glade until they reached the water from which Law herself had emerged. Law settled gracefully at the water's edge and Arthur squatted beside her. The Queen waved her icy hands parallel to the surface of the water and it rippled into a blurred image, "we negotiate his release."

The king of Camelot felt rage instantly fill his vision, "His  _release!?"_  

"Yes," Law calmly supplied, "if you can strike a convincing and beneficial bargain, your friend will be healed and you both may leave. If you cannot," she put the tip of her finger into the water and its currents swirled red like blood, "then you will leave alone, never to see Merlin again." Arthur attempted frantically to tame his outrage and anguish as he analysed Law's proposition.

"How long do I have?" 

"Two days in the time of the outside." she stood up straight, with all the authority and majesty of a great cascading waterfall. Once upright, the Queen of the Water Nymphs stepped into her lake and began wading into its depths. Melting into its current, she walked until no evidence of her appearance remained.

"Time of the outside? What do you mean by that?" Gweryd hopped into Arthur's line of sight as Law disappeared from it,

"It will feel like two hours to you." he provided, pointing to the sky. Arthur had never seen birds fly so fast, they appeared for less than a moment and made only a temporary black blur streak across the sky before they vanished completely. "Those birds are outside of the glade, which means they move far faster than you or I. Time moves slowly in the glade, or anywhere that a group of ancient beings regularly inhabit." he finished his explanation with a bright smile. Arthur had questions,

"How long have I been missing then, in the time of the outside?"

"Two and a half weeks." Hanadl took pleasure in answering, a grin spreading on her face that resembled the eye of a storm. Arthur went to sit, Gweryd hurriedly summoning a stump for him to use; then one of his own, next to the king.

"i can't make a decision like that in two hours, I know nothing of magical creatures, I am ignorant of your needs!" Gweryd rested a hand on the desperate king's shoulder,

"I wouldn't worry. Law is confident you will think of something, and she hasn't been wrong in over two thousand years!" he patted the king's shoulder before brusquely standing and bounding away to a nearby tree. Hand outstretched, the boy stepped into its bark, his skin seeping into its imperfections like roots into soil. Eventually, he also disappeared.

Hanadl was the only one left within the clearing of the glade, her glowing eyes fixed on the face of Camelot's ruler. She clenched her jaw so tightly that Arthur could've sworn he heard it creek under the strain.

"I know that you have no idea what to give us." Arthur blinked, his face blank as Hanadl fixed her gaze to the ground and began a motion that would've been her scuffing her feet on the ground - were they not floating above it, "We cannot tell you how to help, but...we all trust you. The day you were born was the day of the Festival of the Forest in Camelot, in which her subjects celebrated the magic present in nature. Nimueh called on our magic to give Igraine a child, as any sorcerer must do to create life..." she looked at him again, her eyes back to their original colour, her hair a plethora of colours from the seasons of the year, "It was the twilight hours of the festival when you were finally born. But as you let out your first feeble cry," she looked to the lake, which was now showing an image of a baby wrapped in fine cloth, barely a few hours old, his hair a royal blonde, and eyes a fearsome blue, "the dragon in the heart of the kingdom, the wooden monument...it was enchanted to set ablaze when part of a prophecy was fulfilled...and the day you saw it rear its head, and roar, was the day the Triple Goddess would place her hand on the ones of the prophecy, and give them the blessing to always be united. Two souls, two halves of a whole, two sides of the same coin, always joined by her divine majesty and omnipotence." her hands were on Arthur's shoulders now, they were the kind of bitter cold that you could feel in the winter breeze, the cold that made your teeth sting.

"When you cried, my aunt awoke from her slumber. A fire Nymph is a rare one, Arthur, my aunt ruled over them. She herself set fire to that dragon, brighter than I'd ever seen one burn;then it reared its head, and let out a roar so almighty and so profound that every sound in Camelot died, all attention on the castle. All attention focused on the room that contained a child born of magic, whose soul would be held in the Triple Goddess' benevolent grasp for all eternity, never to be parted from whom he was joined." and she vanished, dissolving into the wind; with the image of the flaming dragon burning in the water, its ripples resembling the crackling movement of the fire that consumed the creature.

The image morphed, then, into a face. The cacophony of ripples obscured the features of the face, though, so Arthur watched as the water calmed into a perfect image of Merlin's face. Arthur's pulse jumped, and he fell to his knees by the shore. The image was off, Merlin's eyes were closed in slumber but...

Arthur moved closer to the water, almost touching its surface with his nose. He could see tiny air bubbles clinging to the eyelashes of his friend. Bubbles that rose to the surface of the water, and burst upon contact.

Merlin was under the water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN FOREVER!!!!!! I'm so sorry!!!!! Will you ever forgive an anxiety-ridden student? Hope you're enjoying so far! (Don't worry, got plans)


	8. Water, Water, Everywhere...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So close to Merlin, yet so far.

In a focused frenzy, Arthur hauled Merlin's still form from the water, resting his head - hair drenched to the scalp and soaking into Arthur's breeches - on the king's lap. 

This didn't make sense, why is he allowed Merlin, when he cannot seek his counsel? Arthur knew the Guardians couldn't possibly be giving him an easy out, but then why grant him the privilege of seeing Merlin,  _especially when I. Can't. Talk. To. Him,_ Arthur silently scolded.

Now deep in thought, Arthur began to lightly caress the side of the warlock's face, only partly paying attention to droplets of water coating his palm. Arthur thought of the Festival of the Forest; he'd never experienced it before. The stories Gaius had told him of the spectacle were incredible though, to say the least - stories of families wandering the packed streets, the aromas of food mingling with magical ailments and excited chatter blended with lively music - then, as night fell, rebellious souls would crowd the citadel streets, dancing and drinking themselves into a haze of movement and passion exacerbated by the harvest moon and air thick with raw magic. The awe of the kingdom as, one night, they were pulled from the haze by the Bwystfil o Dân setting alight; the young king had had no idea of his significance in that event until now. It made him think of who he may be united with by the hand of the Triple Goddess.

Then his thoughts returned to Merlin, the man who had remained by his side for years, until recently silently protecting his king with magic more powerful than anything the world had ever, or will ever see, if the ancient texts were to be believed. Of course he was the one She chose. It did seem odd, though, that the one whom was destined to be at his side to rule Camelot was  _not_ , say, a queen; but a servant-turned-esteemed-member-of-the-royal-council. Arthur had known of the intertwining of his path in life with Merlin's for quite some time now. However, that was the one problem he'd had with it. He supposed, then, that Merlin had helped him often without even realising it himself - mostly just by being there, or having something-

"The satchel!" Arthur exclaimed ( _why he didn't shout "Eureka!" was a mystery_ ). The nymphs didn't give him Merlin's mind, or his words of wisdom, they had given Arthur Merlin's  _belongings!_

The king immediately started rifling through his not-servant's satchel at once, looking for anything of significance. He mostly found medical supplies, food, and an empty waterskin. Until...

 

A letter fell from the lining of the satchel, addressed to a certain Iseldir. Arthur recognised the name, but couldn't assign it a face as he opened out the folded parchment:

 

 

> _My Lord Iseldir,_
> 
> _As I'm sure you are aware, there has been a significant rise in the hunting of magical creatures for their hides and body parts in the forests surrounding the kingdom in which Emrys resides. I am as disgusted and outraged as you are at this callous exploitation of our fellow magic folk. However, nothing has ever made my guts swirl in distaste as much as what I have witnessed today._
> 
> _As my group were out hunting for our next meal, we came across a trio of young men with surely no more than 18 years to each of them. They were each laughing and jesting as you would expect, the golden crest of the Once and Future King, clear as day on their shoulders. This detail becomes particularly crucial when one remembers the legislation recently passed by Pendragon to protect those with magic. The boys were all gathered around the beaten, bloodied, and half-dead figure of a Wind Nymph. The damage to the poor thing was so severe that the dreaded bark-like colour had begun to settle in a light dusting across its body. We have been trying to tackle this epidemic for the past two and some months, freeing the nymphs from the dark sorcerers whom had presumably purchased the creatures from the knights and squires who abduct them. We nurse them back to health as best we can, but we can no longer keep up with the sheer numbers of these nymphs being found in cages and cold, metal instruments of torture._
> 
> _We have reason to believe that the sorcerers in possession of the nymphs harvest_ those _things from them, based on the contraptions we find them attached to. Unfortunately, we also have received word that a number of these morally void people plan on giving the substances as a gift to the king of Camelot. No doubt with the intent of poisoning not just Pendragon's reputation with magic folk, but to literally poison half of Camelot._
> 
> _Please, Iseldir, I implore you to help us. They are desperate. If the gift fails, who knows how else they will try to overthrow King Arthur..._
> 
> _Urgently,_
> 
> _Cawyn_
> 
>  

And then, a hurriedly scribbled reply. This one addressed to Merlin:

 

> _Emrys,_
> 
> _I have recently received this letter. Please be aware that I am sending help to Cawyn and his family, help to the nymphs. Please be wary of any gifts sent to Camelot and do your duty to protect your king._
> 
> _Be vigilant._
> 
> _Iseldir_
> 
>  

That was why Merlin insisted on extra inspections of items travelling into Camelot before he and Arthur set off to the Valley. Arthur knew now, knew what he had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to this website for helping me name the mysterious druid sending the letter!  
> https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/wizard-names.php  
> And thanks to the Merlin wiki for aiding in my search for a living druid to have the letter addressed to. And failing in providing me with someone else to have written the letter. Seriously, why does EVERYONE die in this show????  
> Thank God Iseldir was alive, I had to check AFTER writing this because i was like, wait, what if HE's dead????? The relief, dude.


	9. Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine POV

Well, that did it.

Gwaine was to be a royal guard at Gwen's coronation the day after the festival. Arthur had been legally proclaimed dead, his wife having the only legitimate claim to the thrown. She'd have to marry quickly, though; the royal council were furious that a married-into-the-family queen with no king to her name to produce a male heir would be ruling over their precious kingdom. the knight knew it was much more complicated than that, but he got the gist. Gwaine could see it in her face, just how much pressure Gwen had been put under over the past few weeks. He was convinced that all that, plus grief, would kill any other man. But he believed in Gwen. Hell, he believed in Arthur too, in fact, it wasn't Arthur that Gwaine was worried about.

Merlin. The boy (despite him being a similar age to Arthur, this felt like a more accurate description) was completely devoid of any experience in a combat-setting, let alone training. He was also given no weapons before setting off on his quest, and he didn't have any chain mail or armour to protect himself. Oh, and how could Gwaine forget that the warlock was  _unconscious_ and _literally dying_   when he set off with Arthur. In fact, if the two got separated, there wasn't a single doubt in Gwaine's mind that Merlin would be dead in a ditch.

And that was the most painful part of this whole palaver.

 

The knight had been having this unpleasant train of thought, while putting the finishing touches on the Bwystfil o Dân. "The flammable-dragon-statue that may or may not spontaneously burst into flames tomorrow", as he so eloquently described it.

"Gwaine, are you alright?" came the ever-grating voice of Gwaine's favourite suck-up-to-nobility, Leon (but who's Gwaine fooling, the man is a master at battle strategy).

"Yeah, just wondering why we were never allowed that extra week to search for the princess." Gwaine replied only slightly bitterly.

"Gwaine, we've talked about this, the council didn't want to waste their resources anymore. They needed the knights here, not on the trail to the Valley of the Fallen Kings." Gwaine muttered something about "stuck up nobles always expecting a war", "Besides," Leon dared continue, "nothing good ever happens up there..."

So they both shut up and got on with their work.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine had never gotten so drunk  _in his life,_  which was one hell of an achievement. He knew the festival would be good, but  _wow_. 

There is some relevancy to his lack of sobriety in this circumstance, however, because he wasn't quite sure what he saw that night. Between the vastness of the night-time crowd, the darkness cloaking the streets, and the haze of intoxication settling over the knight's brain, he only saw a blur of it.

A creature, skin coloured as flame, eyes as bright and hot as steel straight from the forge, blurred across his vision at the foot of the dragon statue. He knew there was probably some significance to its presence at the festival, but as soon as it was gone, Gwaine was approached by a gaggle of eligible village maidens and got slightly... distracted.

The significance of the creature hit him full-force, however, when something happened behind him anywhere between thirty minutes and three hours later. He then felt all the affects of the alcohol he'd consumed dissipate instantly. Gwaine felt a truly baffling amount of heat beat down onto his barely-clothed back and dropped his tankard when he turned around to locate its source. 

He didn't hear the tankard clatter, nor its contents spill; he hand't heard the gasps all around the streets.

 

All Gwaine heard, was the roar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently juggling between two fics at the moment. But oooooh, INTRIGUE!


	10. The Healing Power of the Forest

"Hanadl!" Arthur yelled, clutching the letters in his hand. The king soon felt her disconcerting presence in the air and was also joined by the other two Guardians.

"Have you made your decision, your majesty?" the calming trickle of Law's voice came from the lake as she breached its surface.

"Yes, I believe I have." Arthur set his jaw and adjusted his posture, preparing for follow-up enquiries.

"What did you decide, Pendragon?" Gweryd chirped from ~~behind~~  inside a nearby tree as he emerged from its bark.

"I am going to find a way to stop the hunting of your subjects. I do not yet know how, but I will start by having a serious word with my young knights and squires." the venom in his tone seemed to convince the Guardians that he was serious. Law floated forward.

"if this truly is your chosen course of action," Arthur gave an affirmative nod, "then when you arrive back in Camelot, you are to arrest one of your newest knights and his chosen squire: Rotgerius and Ouen." when the water Queen provided no answer, Empress Hanadl added to the accusation,

"The two are conspirators with an infamous user of Dark Magic, and are the leaders of the hunting and smuggling ring that kidnap and sell our people." at this point, Gweryd's rosy face turned sour, and he provided Arthur with the final clue to why the arrest must be so urgent.

"We also have reason to believe that one of them is going to smuggle a potent potion known only as "Eclipse" into the upcoming festival. The potion is made from various..." he gulped down what was presumably bile, as Hanadl gravely finished for him,

"From various  _materials_ gathered from nymphs. It is a concoction of the screams, sweat, and tears of our people to form a deadly poison gas. The Dark Sorcerers intend to poison half of Camelot at the festival."

Arthur barely gave any of the Guardians a beat of pause before he insisted, "How fast can you get me there?"

 

* * *

 

 

The Guardians took Arthur and Merlin to a clearing less than a mile from Camelot's border. If Arthur began walking now, factoring in that he had to carry Merlin, he would arrive in less that two hours.

"Is it the day of the festival?"

"Yes." supplied Law, Merlin secure in her arms. Arthur looked at his pale face, still white as death, his breathing barely visible if one weren't concentrating with all their strength. 

"He must be healed." Gweryd pointed out, quite obviously, to Hanadl and Law. The three then huddled together and began discussing matters which Arthur only heard as the whisper of a breeze, the dripping of a water pump, and the soft rustling of leaves. They all turned to face his sceptical expression.

"We can heal Emrys." stated Law, Arthur's eyes still glued to the man in her arms. The king nodded absently; a sign for them to elaborate, "but we need you in order to do so." Arthur's eyes snapped up to meet Law's pupil-less gaze.

"I will do whatever it takes." he immediately resumed his attentive surveillance of Merlin's condition, stepping over to stroke his hair, just  _because._

Law passed Merlin's limp form over to Hanadl to carry, and she approached the king of Camelot. Reaching for his hands and holding them firmly in front of her, Law began to whisper words in what Arthur knew to be the language of the old religion. A burning sensation like that of the bitter cold of ice in his palm, and of boiling bath water, covered his body, and the pools of Law's eyes began to swim with a vibrant gold. Arthur had no idea how long it lasted, but the Water Queen eventually let go of him, and Arthur felt his veins flood with powerful magic.

It was Hanadl's turn now. The Empress got a firm grip on Arthur's shoulders and the king saw her blink in that horrible sideways fashion; but when her eyes came into view again, they too glowed golden with magic. Arthur felt the wind whip at his cheeks as his clothes clung to some parts of his body and shifted away from others, as if in a gale. All the while, Hanadl whispered words of power into the breeze and Arthur felt them reverberate off of him in great gusts. Eventually, Hanadl stepped away form Arthur, and he felt his skin tingle with the effects of the spell.

Finally, Gweryd edged nervously toward the king. Resting his hands on each side of Arthur's face, he closed his eyes completely. Arthur followed suit and, before he knew what was going on, Gweryd had rested his forehead against Arthur's. Then Arthur heard it; a voice old and deep as the groans of an ancient tree. An incantation planted seeds of magic in his heart and he felt it bloom within him, its roots probing into the darkest depths of Arthur's inner most thoughts.

The first time he had shot game, and his father's disappointment as his son bawled for hours; Merlin's love of the forest's animals. 

Arthur's inability to make friends as a child because everyone he had ever met lived only to please him; Merlin's brutal and refreshing honesty with him from the moment they'd first met.

Arthur's insecurity in his capability to rule after every falling out he'd had with his father; Merlin's constant reassurance and talk of the Once and Future King.

Arthur's constant stress and feeling of being overwhelmed by his duties as king and the pressure to live up to expectations; Merlin's part in the prophecy as Emrys, and his own responsibilities, and expectations.

Every loss Arthur had ever suffered at the hands of Morgana, or his father's ridiculous laws, or simply unfortunate circumstances; Merlin's ability to not only relate to these losses and to Arthur, but to always be a much needed constant presence in the man's life. 

Arthur's peasant friend from his teen years, who had kissed as beautifully as he had smiled; Merlin's smile. Arthur's first real friend; Merlin. Arthur's one great love; the greatest sorcerer to have ever walked the earth.

 

_"Merlin."_

 

Gweryd finished his incantation, Arthur opened his eyes to find himself alone and pulsing with healing magic. He immediately rushed over to his not-servant and propped the frail man's head onto his lap. At the touch of magic, Merlin opened his eyes. Still unable to move, and not showing any signs of improvements other than consciousness, Merlin rasped out a word.

_"Arthur?"_

The king must've smiled like a fool, but he hadn't heard that voice (no matter how broken) for days. 

"It's me Merlin, it's me," the tears began to flow of their own volition, "I'm here. I can heal you, Merlin, they've given me magic to heal you-" Arthur's voice broke off at a sob and a single tear fell onto Merlin's cheek. His face gained some colour and he had enough strength to lift his hand to swipe away the tears. Tired form the exertion, his hand dropped back onto the grass with a soft thump.

"How did they tell you to administer it?" the words were sluggish and croaky, but Arthur was glad Merlin could follow him.

"They didn't, I don't know how," at the sight of Merlin's minute worry, Arthur began rambling, "but that's ok, I'll figure it out. I always have been smarter than you anyway." Merlin let out the faintest huff of a chuckle and something resembling "dollophead" and Arthur smiled even more broadly, tears falling in earnest.

"I thought you were going to die, Merlin, I-" he pulled the warlock close to him and sobbed quietly into that awful,  _awful_ neckerchief he insists on wearing. "I hate that neckerchief." he half laughed. He was holding Merlin so tightly he feared he might be hurting the man, but Merlin gave no protest. So Arthur just savoured the moment. 

"You smell terrible." Merlin deadpanned, his voice significantly stronger now, though still very much ill. Arthur threw his head back and laughed, only catching a glimpse of Merlin's reverent smile.

"Well you  _look_ terrible." the king retorted, sweeping a blade of grass from Merlin's cheek that may or may not have ever existed.

"So do you. You look like you've been caught in a Wyvern's nest in a thunderstorm." his laugh came out almost like a cough,

"Merlin? Shut up." His not-servant inhaled as deeply as he could.

"Make me."

Arthur had no idea what made him say it. Whether it was the spell, what the spell made him see, the relief of getting Merlin back, the stress of the past few days or the impending doom upon Camelot, was anybody's guess. All he knew was what made him say it didn't matter, it was the truth.

"I love you."

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin's eyes went round as saucers and his jaw dropped. Arthur immediately regretted what he'd said. What if he'd scared him off? What if Merlin din't feel the same? What if he really  _was_ delirious from the spell? What if the prophecy forebode this from happening? What about  _Guinevere?_   What if-

His next thought was cut off by Merlin's lips on his. His thoughts were immediately emptied, before being refilled with romantic nonsense. Like how soft and plump Merlin's lips were, how fluffy his hair was, how blue his eyes were, how prettily he blushed, how passionate he was... 

How gravely  _ill_ he was supposed to be.

"Merlin, you haven't been healed!" Arthur protested, pushing his not-servant-maybe-love-interest away to examine him. The warlock just started whole heartedly laughing.

" _Arthur_ , you already healed me!" at his king's quizzical expression, Merlin explained, "The moment you kissed me," his eyes drifted down to Arthur's lips and the king felt himself flush with only a little bit of pride, "I felt all of the healing magic flow through me. Whoever put that spell on you, they  _wanted_ you to kiss me." Arthur scrunched up his nose in distaste,

"Those nosy, conniving little..."

"Arthur, who gave you the spell?" he fixed the king with his  _"you're being ridiculously immature and this is a serious situation, I need answers"_   expression. Naturally, Arthur told him the whole saga.

"-and that brings us here, to the day of the festival-" Merlin leapt to his feet.

" _The day of the festival!?"_ he hauled Arthur to his feet and began marching towards Camelot, "We need to go!  _Now!"_ Arthur huffed and followed him, it was almost nightfall. The time was almost upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! So sorry for the late updates, my plate is OVERFLOWING and I've entered a whole new LEVEL of stress. ;-;  
> I promise I'll write the last chapter(s) soon!!!


	11. Katy Perry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Roar?

The king and his warlock were swiftly reaching Camelot's borders when suddenly Arthur ran face-first into the bony back of his very-attractive-not-servant. 

" _Mer_ lin!" he soothed his own blonde head, "My forehead is going to swell to the size of a horse!" Arthur readied himself for the witty comeback. After hearing none, he glanced at Merlin's face and, bewildered, followed his awed gaze to...

"What the hell is that?" asked the warlock, less curious and more transfixed by the violently burning dragon. A dragon made of fire that produced no smoke; and gracefully opened, then stretched its blazing wings. Replying to Merlin with a roar from the core of the very earth that was so haunting, that Arthur had to seriously fight an impulse to collapse onto the ground at once. Its magnificence was unmistakable.

"A promise." and he looked over at his warlock once more, whose eyes reflected the light of the distant flame with only a fraction of the brightness of his own deep, surging magic. Arthur's large, war-ready hands drifted up in search of the warmth of the long, strong fingers belonging to his hard-working servant. Because that's what Merlin would always be to both himself and his king.

"I promise." he said, eyes still aglow. 

And they kissed to the light of the fire, and walked to the distant hum of music. A warm bed awaited them tonight, and a nefarious nymph-smuggling ring awaited them in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i think i'll just end it here. This one has taken a long time and i wanna focus on another fic of mine:


End file.
